For many, Dungeons & Dragons still brings to mind a club of oily adolescents gathered around game boards in their parents' basements. This stereotype is not only dated, but it's strangely intimidating to people who are actually curious about D&D. I'd always wanted to give the role-playing game a try, but I was under the impression that I would have to infiltrate some sort of secret nerd circle. ¶ Fortunately, I have an in with a super-nerd: A friend, science fiction writer Rob Callahan, is a bit of a local nerd icon. So when I mention my interest, he drops a bomb on me: He is in a weekly game of D&D with crushworthy local musician Jeremy Messersmith. And I'm invited to come and play.
Over the past several years, Jeremy has become the indie-pop darling of the Twin Cities. Rob is no slouch, either, recently named a literary guest of honor for the upcoming 2012 MarsCon. With these two gentlemen in attendance, there's no doubt in my mind that this is the coolest D&D game in town. Perhaps the universe.
When I express my desire to write a story about the experience for Vita.mn, with photos, Rob brings my proposal to the group. It is met with hesitation. Though Rob's and Jeremy's careers regularly put them in the spotlight, the other players in the group value their anonymity, and my proposal is not accepted with immediate enthusiasm. As deliberation continues, I recognize that familiar knot of pending rejection in the pit of my stomach. But finally, an e-mail arrives inviting me to their next gathering as a guest, as long as I promise not to use the other players' real names.
Since I don't know how the game actually works, I enlist my husband as a tutor. He happens to have a few D&D booklets handy, so he reads me a tale of a goblin robbery gone wrong. It's a Choose Your Own Adventure-style experience, and each decision I make shapes my character. Next, he assigns me a worksheet which will determine my skills and their corresponding levels. For example, if I want a high score for diplomacy, I would have to balance that out with low points in another category. I eventually settle on a human War Priest of the Storm Domain that I name Freja, only to discover later that I have inadvertently made a character almost identical to Rob's.
As I panic over starting my character from scratch, my husband briefs me on the rest of the game. The Dungeon Master drives the story, either an original tale or a quest out of a D&D manual. As the adventure progresses, players make decisions that shape their characters' journey. Their choices are presented to the Dungeon Master, who determines how many points are needed for players to make their moves successfully. For example, if I choose to steal a wagon, the Dungeon Master could require a streetwise score of 20 or higher. If my character only had six streetwise points, I would have to roll a 20-sided die and land at least a 14.
Before the meeting, I frantically review the rules and rebuild Freja, with the help of Jeremy's online character builder. (He has a subscription. It is worth it.) When I arrive at the home of two fellow guild members, my palms are sweating. What if I kill a cohort with friendly fire? What if I slow everyone down? But it's too late to back out. I will have to play, and I will have to be awesome.
Jeremy, the Dungeon Master, sits at the head of the table with a laptop full of sound effects. My nerves are still humming. I place my character on the board, and Jeremy picks up right where this merry band of travelers left off last week.
The characters in our group are Elwin the Objective (played by Rob), Osmo, Ariadne, Enna, Solera and a warrior dwarf named Gruulf. In the midst of a quest, they are gathered in a cottage where they have been chatting with a kindly stranger named Ilyana. Jeremy affects a Southern-belle drawl as he voices Ilyana, insisting we take some half-elf tea. "No one can resist Ilyana's half-elf tea," he purrs, batting his lashes. I start to appreciate how invested our Dungeon Master is in the minor characters.